


Haunted

by Atlantic (courtofspades)



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: here goes nothing, i have no idea what the scope of this is so: buckle up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtofspades/pseuds/Atlantic
Summary: Adjusting back to life after the Silent World isn't easy and Reynir can't shake the thought of Onni's final goodbye. Something ominous seems to loom threateningly on the horizon and decisions must be made about the future.(I forgot how to write summaries, sorry)





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Frankly I'm not entirely convinced that Reynir actually thinks about things this deeply. Maybe he's just an impulsive, somewhat reckless, stubbornly nice person who has, for whatever reason (curiosity, admiration?), found himself in pursuit of Onni's friendship. But it's definitely a fun exercise to dig a lot deeper into his character and examine what's be going on there :')
> 
> I can't say whether or not this is going to stay complete as is, but there is a possibility that I may add on more (plus more characters) later. Fingers crossed! This is meant to take place around the adventure II page 50s.

Sitting under the old birch tree he used to play beneath as a child, book of runes slipping from his loose fingers as he studied the landscape beyond the village, Reynir felt uneasy. There was nothing different about the sloping plain, but something had changed that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, as though the stealthy slip of passing time had made the sheep-spotted hillsides unrecognizable in his absence. It was a sensation that had shadowed him ever since their return from the silent world, a cold touch like snow against his cheek that raised shivers down his spine even as a warm spring breeze murmured through the striped branches of budding birch and willow. Despite their escape from the tormented spirits of the silent world, he had become haunted. When he leaned back against the rough bark of the old tree and closed his eyes for a moment the echoes of the journey shimmered beneath his eyelids like smoke trails on the horizon. The ghost of Tuuri’s smile curdled his stomach in half-remembered dreams, as did the violent red of the setting sun as it sank between the trees and the quick flash of Sigrun’s blood against snow as she took the bite for him.

Though Reynir had returned to safety, the silent world had traveled back with him. It was a hungry, howling insistence that gnawed at his bones as he slept, as he ate breakfast, and as he tended the sheep. It was a frigid, fearful whisper tickling the shell of his ear as he tried to fall asleep. Among his family he felt alone. When the sheepdogs shoved wet noses against his palms, ecstatic at his return, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping for a deeper meaning. They remained cheerfully oblivious, a different species entirely from his dream companion. Indeed Reynir had not returned to the dreamspace since decontamination, but the idea of revisiting those strange, empty hills shrouded in mist filled him with an odd sense of dread. It seemed that the chill of that icy gulf of star-sown indigo waters still touched his soul.

Opening his eyes Reynir reached up to touch his jaw. Though he had awoken the morning after Onni’s punch with a face entirely unscathed, his heart still bore the bruise of the catastrophic encounter. Tuuri wouldn’t have liked it, but Onni seemed intent on avoiding the topic which made it difficult to resolve. Besides. Onni had been gone for months now, so there was really no reason to keep thinking about it. Nevertheless, sometimes as Reynir was dozing off, Onni’s last grim declaration floated up to his consciousness, uncompromising in its finality. 

“We won’t meet again.” 

Reynir had not seen him since in waking or in sleep, but he refused to allow those words to be true. He hadn’t given up on Sister Anne before, and on that occasion at least, his stubbornness had been rewarded. Plus, there had been something resigned about Onni’s expression as he had delivered that last blow that Reynir could not ignore. It was a hollow echo to his words that held no doubt. But how could Onni know with such certainty that they would never meet again, even on accident? 

Overwhelmed by a feeling of unease that he could not shake, Reynir forsook his heavy tome of dull farming runes and marched back down the hill. As he found himself atop the village’s eponymous bridge, the river flowing like a spool of satin unwinding beneath his steps, several disconnected thoughts wove together in his mind. 

How many times had his feet traveled across the worn, creaking wood of this bridge? 

It had safely born him across the murmuring onyx waters on more occasions than he could count. This was the world in which Reynir had spent most of his life, peaceful and secure. Indeed, up until last autumn, the most dangerous thing that he had faced in this idyllic landscape was the river that now whispered enticingly beneath his feet, beckoning him to follow it out to sea once more. Reynir’s friends did not understand the force that compelled him to roam. Among them he was a ghost of the person whom he had been in the Silent World. Despite all of the pain it had inflicted upon him, he still clung to the tattered shadows that had invaded his mind with a longing that sometimes shocked him. This muddy, aged bridge which had once been the barrier between himself and safety could no longer protect him from the cold, inky tide, bejeweled with stars, that had awoken within. In Reynir’s dreams, he needed no bridge to traverse the chasm.

Although he wasn’t quite sure yet what to make of these thoughts, Reynir felt strangely buoyed as he stepped onto the muddy path towards home. Something in the air had changed, yet again. It felt like the electric hum that accompanied distant thunder and an approaching storm. If they wouldn’t teach him any useful magecraft at school, then he would have to teach himself. Then he would find Onni again, even if it was only to deliver a an I-told-you-so.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
